---
Darren was gone.
Harry and Hermione's lives returned to what they had been before.
Their current goal—
was to find a way to draw the Sword of Gryffindor from the Sorting Hat.
They had already asked Phineas and the Sorting Hat.
Both gave the sa answer:
Only a true Gryffindor could pull out the sword.
But for so reason—
neither Harry nor Hermione could do it.
Harry could still hear Phineas's mocking voice afterward.
It sounded like he was saying—
Darren, a Slytherin, could draw the sword…
but Harry, a Gryffindor, could not.
Harry was furious.
But no matter how angry he was—
he still couldn't pull it out.
He even began to regret—
that day, he should have let Darren take it out for him.
But regret was useless now.
They had to figure it out themselves.
After all—
two Gryffindors relying on a Slytherin to solve everything…
was ridiculous.
As for Darren—
from what Phineas reported, his situation was getting worse.
He was no longer allowed near Snape's office.
On top of that, Snape assigned two Slytherin students to monitor him.
Even his private dormitory had been taken away.
All privileges—
gone.
And he could no longer freely contact Phineas.
Harry couldn't even complain about it.
Because Darren wouldn't care about any of that.
What Darren cared about—
was whether they could find and destroy the Horcruxes.
As long as everything returned to normal—
Darren would even sacrifice his life without hesitation.
Harry let out a quiet breath.
Maybe the only thing he could do now—
was pull out the sword and destroy a Horcrux.
But so far—
he and Hermione still had no clue.
---
That night—
Harry sat outside the tent, shivering in the cold.
The Sorting Hat was in his hands.
He kept muttering,
begging it to give him the sword.
The hat, of course—
only mocked him.
Harry's irritation grew.
Finally—
he stood up.
He decided to go out alone for a while.
He put on the Invisibility Cloak.
Hermione warned him repeatedly to be careful.
Because—
Harry still had a bad habit.
He would accidentally say Voldemort's na.
And every ti—
Death Eaters would appear.
They had already changed locations several tis because of this.
Hermione was extrely worried.
"You're not allowed to say his na outside!"
Harry sighed.
"I'll keep quiet."
"I won't talk to anyone."
Only then did Hermione reluctantly let him go.
---
Harry walked out alone.
Holding the Sorting Hat.
Thinking.
A true Gryffindor…
What did that even an?
Courage?
He tried imagining himself facing Voldemort.
Standing fearless.
But still—
nothing happened.
No sword.
Harry clenched his fists.
Then slowly walked toward a river.
He removed the cloak.
The water reflected his face.
For a mont—
he couldn't tell if it was his face…
or his father's.
Then he thought of his mother.
Thought of Darren.
Why could Darren pull out the sword?
What did he have—
that Harry didn't?
Kindness?
Compassion?
Selflessness?
The willingness to sacrifice himself?
…All of it?
Harry lowered his head.
Then—
sothing inside him settled.
Courage.
Not just facing Voldemort—
but facing everything.
Pain.
Loss.
Fear.
And still choosing to fight.
"Yes…"
Harry whispered.
"I have it."
At that mont—
sothing struck his head.
His footing slipped.
He fell—
straight into the river.
The icy water swallowed him.
Harry tried to get up—
but sothing dragged him down.
Then he realized—
it was the Horcrux.
The locket tightened around his neck.
He couldn't breathe.
The cold.
The pressure.
The suffocation.
Everything closed in.
He thought—
this might be it.
Then—
a pair of hands grabbed him.
Pulled him up.
The chain around his neck was torn away.
Air rushed back into his lungs.
Harry coughed violently.
Then opened his eyes.
And saw—
Ron.
Ron stood there.
Holding the Sword of Gryffindor.
The broken Horcrux chain lay beside him.
Ron's face was furious.
"What are you doing?!"
"You went into the water with that thing around your neck?!"
Harry stared at him.
Shivering.
But his eyes never left Ron.
He slowly put on the cloak.
Picked up the sword.
Picked up the Horcrux.
Then asked quietly—
"…Why did you co back?"
Ron looked uncomfortable.
He rubbed his hands.
"I… ca back."
"…If you still want ."
Silence.
Heavy.
Awkward.
Then Harry asked,
"How did you find us?"
Ron hesitated.
"It's a long story."
"I'll explain later."
Harry nodded.
Then after a mont—
he spoke again.
"Do you want to destroy it?"
Ron froze.
"…?"
"I… I don't know if I can."
Harry stepped forward.
Placed the Horcrux in Ron's hands.
"You can."
"I'll open it."
"You stab it."
Ron stepped back imdiately.
"No—no, Harry, I can't!"
"You don't understand—this thing…"
"When I wear it, I beco soone else."
"I get angry, paranoid…"
"And when I take it off—I regret everything."
"Just thinking about putting it on again…"
"I can't do it."
Harry's eyes turned red.
"It's been hurting all of us."
"End it."
"You can do this."
Ron looked at him.
Then at the locket.
Then at the sword.
Slowly—
he nodded.
"…What do I do?"
"I'll open it," Harry said.
"When I count to three—stab it."
Ron gripped the sword.
Hands shaking.
Harry spoke in Parseltongue.
"Open."
The locket split apart.
Dark smoke poured out.
Then—
a figure appeared.
Darren.
Perfect.
Flawless.
But his expression—
cold.
Arrogant.
Cruel.
He looked at Ron.
And spoke—
"Your precious prefect badge?"
"I never wanted it."
"I rejected it."
"The girl you like?"
"She secretly gave love potions."
"Did you never notice?"
"Your best friend, Harry Potter?"
"He will always choose first."
"Your parents?"
"They love more than you."
"They even said—"
"They wanted Ginny to marry ."
"So I could truly beco their son."
"And even Fred, George, Percy—"
"They all told you to give way to ."
He stepped closer.
His voice sharp.
"Do you still not understand?"
"You are trash."
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